Sweet, sweet, little stars
by Intergalactic Chocochip Cookie
Summary: About Alice's life at the asylum, how she feels about having been abandoned by her family, and what she endures in the asylum. I think it's very sad. The Carlisle that appears here it's not the original; only I have no imagination for names :- ...


**Sweet, sweet, little stars**

By Michelle López

It's cold, very, very cold. I don't know why that bothers me, there have been so many nights I've been cold I should be used to it. But I feel it, anyway, I feel it because I'm alive. And that's exactly my problem.

If the world were the normal place it should, I would be dead by now. But then again, if this were a normal world my family would have never abandoned me. They said it was for my own good, that I would be better here. "They will care for you," my mother had told me. "You'll be safe." But unless safety meant being locked in a white cell, alone, with only an ocassional visit of some doctor with a kind smile, gentle manners and a stone heart, I don't see how my life has improved.

And it's all very curious, because I don't really think I should be here. Yes, I used to say to my family things like "Don't go south, because it's going to rain," or "Be careful, Cynthia. Tomorrow you're going to fall from the tree in the park," yes, I said that, but it did happen. There was certainly a big storm that day, and my sister broke her arm balancing herself in the tree, so why did they take me to a psychologist, why was I treated as a freaky little thing, a monster? And, most important, why, why did they leave me? I was twelve, for goodness' sake, I couldn't have hurt anyone. And they never told me what they were planning, they only took me one day and brought me here, promising I'd be fine, I would get a treatement for my "little problem", as my father called it. They even promised to visit me, to watch over me. Lies, all lies.

It gets unbearably cold. I brace myself, in an useless attempt to gain some warmth. It's April, the month of my birthday. In a couple of weeks, I'll be sixteen. Which means, almost four years since I last saw my family, almost four years since, after thousands of tests, the doctors determined my hallucinations had damaged my brain beyond repair. That's why I was put in Section 3, cell 254; the wing of the hopeless. Still, I had the pleasure of telling them, just before they threw me here, that there would be a fire in Section 5 the next day. The following morning, when the smell of smoke reached me, I burst in such an attack of laughter they had to give me a sedative. But it's been a while since then.

Anyway, we were talking about the cold. I wonder how it can keep getting colder, and how I'm still sensible to it. Perhaps, if I weren't so hungry... There are three things you must get used to when your family abandons you. The first one is the cold. This spring is particularly freezing. Even worse, I've just had a vision and I know it's going to snow tomorrow. Great. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll die. That would be the only thing that could help me escape the second thing of our list: the pain.

The last time I heard from my parents was when they signed the permission for the shock treatement to be applied on me. I already knew what it was like, to be in pain, but this... this was beyond words. They didn't tell me it was going to happen, they just came one day and dragged me to a room. I was crying with fear, I had no idea what they were going to do to me. They tied me to a kind of divan, a metal structure wrapped in a blanket. So many ropes around me, biting on my skin till it bled. Please, if there were any way I could escape I would already have tried it. And then it came. A current swept through me, burning, making me convulsion. I screamed in pain, I begged them to stop, but of course they didn't listen. I suppose I fainted, because it all went black and the next thing I knew I was back here, in my white prison that suddenly seemed like a refuge.

They've given me the shocks twice more, and the only thing that consoles me is that if I don't die from cold, it will be because of the pain. This cheers me, because in any way, it won't be long till I'm free. But right now, as the irritation of the marks left by the ropes on my wrists and ankles begins to fade, I face my last enemy: hunger.

It's not that bad, because after a while my stomach gets numb and completely senseless, but, still, it's difficult to guess why they think that crazy people eats less than the lucid one. One meal a day, and I bet the dog I sometimes hear barking in the distance gets better stuff than us, the Hopeless. If I faced this monsters one at a time, I might be able to fight them off, but they al attack together, biting, burning, tickling. That's not fair.

Now, the door is opening. Either it's them, about to give me more shocks, or I'm having a vision. None of them is good. A man comes in, he's tall, blond and strong. He wears a white robe, it's the shocks then. He takes a step toward me and I can't help begging him. "No, please, not the shocks, not again. I've been good, I've taken the medicines, please," I whisper, terrified. But he says nothing, he just kneels before me. I look at his face and see him smiling tentatively. The smile is kind, warm, the first one I see in a long time. I like it, and I try to smile back, but unfortunalely I'm still too scared.

He stretches his hand toward me and I wince in fear, but he smiles wider and touches my hair. His fingers are extremely cold, like ice, but is still nice to feel them. He strokes my hair, softly, sweetly, and finally I relax. "That's better," he says in a calm, soothing voice. "No one is going to hurt you anymore, ok? My name is Carlisle, I'm the new director of the hospital. And yours?" "A- Alice," I manage to say. "What a pretty name," he says as he strokes my hair and face, "as pretty as the owner."

No one had ever been so kind to me, no one had ever spoken to me with such care. I feel for him an instant devotion. Then he takes something he brought with him that I hadn't seen. "It's a cold night, isn't it?" he continues. "I thought you might like this." He extends the something over me and I realize it's a quilt. Soft, warm, blessed quilt. All this becomes too much for me, and I start sobbing uncontrollably. He hugs me and whispers sweet words. I can only manage a weak _thanks_, that goes for more than the quilt, more than his words. It goes for... well, I don't know, for showing me there's still hope.

He says nothing, but I think he understood, because when he speaks again his voice is thick with some emotion. "Now, now, cry. Cry, honey, get it out. They hurt you before, but it's over now. You'll be fine now, darling," He cooes me, humming quietly. Somehow, I make out his words. "Sweet, sweet stars; sweet, sweet, little stars." Finally, I fall asleep, but now, for the first time in years, I know I'm safe.


End file.
